LEGAL SHIT I own not Tracer Bullet
I work in a small office, the kind you only see in detective movies. That's exactly what it was. The name is Bullet, Tracer Bullet, but what people call me is different, I'm a Private Eye. This is one of my many interesting tales. The Case of the Scarab Beetle Diamond.
It all started on October 14, 1955. It was 10:55 pm, and my secretary Miss Derkins had just left the premises. I had just finished locking up the office and was about to go to my car when in walked a stunning brunette. If good looks could kill, she'd be a tenant at Alcatraz prison. She could not be missed, like she was opaque. She was obviously rich because there was a pair of large men in suits next to her. "Mr. Bullet?" she asked, "I'm Katie Dalin" "Pleased to meet you, now if you'll excuse me I have to get home to my cat, she's starving" I said with absolutely no courtesy in my voice. It had been a long day, with no jobs. "No you don't understand, let's talk inside my car" "thank you but I'll drive my car behind yours" "alright then. Bob! Start the car". I had a bad feeling in my stomach, so I went to my office to retrieve my utilities, which consisted of a .45 colt and 6 clips, a bottle of brandy, and my last Will and Testament that stated all my money go to charity and my cat and personal belongings go to Susie my secretary. I noticed a note in my desk to remind me of the budget problems our small company had. I also grabbed the 3 yr. warranty for my car, just in case. About 34 min later, we arrived at a mansion at the top of a hill. The dame told me that she was a descendant of an Egyptian pharaoh and showed me her collection of Egyptian artifacts. One of them was the Scarab Beetle Diamond. But it had just been stolen 2 days ago, and everything here had been reported stolen in the last 2 months. Then, the sound of a pistol loading focused my thoughts the way only a .38 pistol could. The dame had set me up! I quickly drew out my.45 and let lose 7 shots into the culprits. I then proceeded to call the police, gave them the address, took the money from everyone's wallets (a total of $541) and left. The next morning, I noticed my company in the paper on the case. Looks like my company isn't going to be a transparent window anymore.
I work in a small office, the kind you only see in detective movies. That's exactly what it was. The name is Bullet, Tracer Bullet, but what people call me is different, I'm a Private Eye. This is one of my many interesting tales. The Case of the Scarab Beetle Diamond.
It all started on October 14, 1955. It was 10:55 pm, and my secretary Miss Derkins had just left the premises. I had just finished locking up the office and was about to go to my car when in walked a stunning brunette. If good looks could kill, she'd be a tenant at Alcatraz prison. She could not be missed, like she was opaque. She was obviously rich because there was a pair of large men in suits next to her. "Mr. Bullet?" she asked, "I'm Katie Dalin" "Pleased to meet you, now if you'll excuse me I have to get home to my cat, she's starving" I said with absolutely no courtesy in my voice. It had been a long day, with no jobs. "No you don't understand, let's talk inside my car" "thank you but I'll drive my car behind yours" "alright then. Bob! Start the car". I had a bad feeling in my stomach, so I went to my office to retrieve my utilities, which consisted of a .45 colt and 6 clips, a bottle of brandy, and my last Will and Testament that stated all my money go to charity and my cat and personal belongings go to Susie my secretary. I noticed a note in my desk to remind me of the budget problems our small company had. I also grabbed the 3 yr. warranty for my car, just in case. About 34 min later, we arrived at a mansion at the top of a hill. The dame told me that she was a descendant of an Egyptian pharaoh and showed me her collection of Egyptian artifacts. One of them was the Scarab Beetle Diamond. But it had just been stolen 2 days ago, and everything here had been reported stolen in the last 2 months. Then, the sound of a pistol loading focused my thoughts the way only a .38 pistol could. The dame had set me up! I quickly drew out my.45 and let lose 7 shots into the culprits. I then proceeded to call the police, gave them the address, took the money from everyone's wallets (a total of $541) and left. The next morning, I noticed my company in the paper on the case. Looks like my company isn't going to be a transparent window anymore.